I have, as far as I can remember, always wanted to be a priest, however, the Secondary School I went to was a technical school, which meant that when I left school, at the age of 16, my dream seemed impossible, for being a technical school, my school taught no Latin, and in those days all our Catholic services were in Latin and to be a priest Latin was required. However, somehow I clung on to my dream, even though, at times, I would get very depressed about whether it could ever come to be.

I was in such a depressed state one Saturday morning, when I was about 18 and met, by accident, my Parish Priest. I used to attend Mass on Saturday mornings and as I was walking home, that Saturday, from Mass, my Parish Priest got out of his car and went to enter a house, just as I was passing. I said, “Good morning, Father,” and he looked up and said, “Oh, good morning, Terry” and went on towards the house; I also walked on, but he called me back and said, “Terry, if you ever have thoughts of a religious vocation, you will come and see me, won’t you?” I do not remember what I said in reply, but I do remember that whereas I had been walking 12 inches below the surface of the pavement before he spoke to me, afterwards I was walking 3 feet above! For what he had said showed me that my dream of becoming a priest was still possible, even though I had no Latin.

I have pondered that and similar incidents in my life and resisted the temptation to label them as mere “coincidences” – for how was it that my Parish Priest came along at just that precise moment? Had he arrived thirty seconds earlier or thirty seconds later, that conversation would not have happened, but the fact that he did come along just then made that short conversation possible – a conversation, which, two years later, was to lead me to enter the seminary and become a priest. Because such “coincidences” have had such important consequences, I tuck them away in my memory, for they reveal that it is not so much I who am seeking God, but rather God, who is seeking me. For instance, in my desire to be a priest, I had never thought to ask myself where that “wanting”, which so hurt at times, came from. All my attention was on what I wanted, aggravated by the fact that it seemed it could never come to be. It never occurred to me that this “wanting” was the “The Hound of Heaven” - as Francis Thompson calls God – calling me, chasing me and leading me on until the time was right for things to be able to happen – and when that time did come, he also sent someone to give me the courage to apply to Mill Hill and so began my journey to the priesthood.

The same kind of experience, I now see, has followed me all my life and, is part of my daily attempts to follow the Lord, for I often experience failure in this and have to face up to the fact that the way I want to walk with the Lord is not the way I do walk. However, the Lord sent me someone, a confessor, who helps me see that what is important, in my life, is not the failure, but that I go on trying. He has helped me see that even though I may be consumed with what I want to be – and my failure to become so – I have not been asking, “Where do those desires come from?” The fact that I still want to grow in the love of Christ for the world means that I will one day come there. The frustration I feel comes from looking at the road ahead and knowing that I am not yet there, but the very fact that I want to be there is a promise from the Lord that one day I shall arrive there – for what he calls us to be, he always brings about by his grace and in his own time. The pain of the wanting and the pain of the failure is necessary for without it I would not even try to walk.

My memories help me here also, for they not only show me how the Lord has always been – calling me, urging me and helping me along the road, but they also show me where I have come from. When I “remember” the past, I realise with wonder that I can now do things that, at one time, were beyond me. In this way, I no longer feel shame in my heart at my failures – although I do painfully still recognise that they are failures – for I now know that these desires, frustrated though they may be at the moment, are the voice of the Lord pointing out the next section of the journey and holding out his hand to journey together with me. They are, thus, the promise of that which Julian of Norwich expresses as: “All will be well, all will be well, all manner of things will be well.

Diary

I have had a busy time since I last wrote a blog – and that is also why I have not written for a while. I went to Bali for Christmas and visited the Jail, where amongst others I met Andrew, who, unless a miracle happens, will be executed in the next week or two. Please pray for him and his family. I also took Matthew, about whom I have written before, a lot of English Readers, for the small school he runs inside the prison.

Then I received news from my nephew that my sister-in-law, Mary, my late brother’s wife, was dying. So, just after Christmas I took a plane home and then on to Ireland to see her. When I first saw her, she seemed very close to death, but after the anointing she seems to recover slightly and we had a lovely week or so together before I had to come back. She phoned me last Sunday to say that the cancer had begun to grow again, but that she is good in herself and is ready to go – even looking forward to go and meet her husband – when the Lord sees fit to call her. Please pray also for her, for all the dying and also all their families, who can only stand and watch.

When I came back, I went to Sabah for a vocations’ seminar. There were about a hundred lads there and fourteen were chosen to enter seminary formation, but I caught no fish for Mill Hill, my own Missionary Society. I told a Religious Sister about that and she said, “Later!” and sure enough last week a young man phoned me from Sabah and said that he would like to join Mill Hill.

So, now the College has started again and we have 22 students – the top three years being out on pastoral assignments this term. So, I have enough to keep me busy. On top of this, I have begun organising the next Bali Retreat cum Tour, which will be from 8th – 14th May. I have six applicants already.

On Christmas Eve, 1914, as darkness fell over the trenches of the Western Front during the First World War, a German soldier began to sing a Christmas carol and soon he was joined by others. Then, slowly, those on the Allied side also began to sing, until one or two soldiers found the courage to get out of the trenches and go towards the other side exchanging Christmas greetings. This was the famous “Christmas unofficial truce” and it lasted for the whole of Christmas Day. During this time both sides helped each other recover and bury their dead and they also exchanged gifts, with one group even engaging in a friendly football match in the “no man’s land” between the two opposing trenches. This period of peace did not last long and soon the Army High Command on both sides began ordering their men to cease fraternising with the enemy and begin once more to try to kill them. That short day of peace and brotherhood, however, remains a historical fact and shows how the Gospel of Christ is able to bring peace and friendship even into the most unlikely of places – albeit for only a short time. It thus gives to us all a glimpse of the power of the Gospel of Christ, if only it is given the chance.

I have seen that same power at work here in East Malaysia. When I say Mass I look out at the congregation and see it is made up of people from many different races, communities and ages. I see people, who once would have considered each other as enemies, now regard each other as family, and while we still have a long way to go as family, we can see, even now, what Christ is doing among us – making us family. Of all our Christian Feasts, maybe Christmas is the one that brings us to see this most clearly – particularly in the warmth with which we greet and smile at each other. In this way, our Christian customs and traditions can sometimes reveal the Gospel more clearly than can doctrine!

I have a small tin Christmas crib, which was given me some years ago by a Mexican friend of mine, and last week, I took it out of its wrappings and set it up. It is very small, and now rather rusty, but it still tells the story. When I had erected it, I just sat and looked at it and as I gazed I saw how everyone in the scene were bringing gifts to the Christ Child – what a contrast to the secular picture of Father Christmas, who is welcomed because he brings gifts – although there is a custom in some places to leave a glass of milk and a biscuit for him.

As I sat there, I saw that to come before the Christ Child, I need to bring something and, I saw, that I need not be ashamed of my gift, whatever it is – if I have gold, that is acceptable, as was the gift of Balthazar, one of the kings; but, if I have only a bit of bread and cheese, as probably brought the shepherds did, that also is acceptable. Standing before the Child, who had nothing, I need not be ashamed of who I am – or am not – and if I dare to stand there as I am I will receive what the Christmas song says the little drummer boy received – “he smiled at me!” Christ smiles at me, not because of what I bring, not because of what I can do, but because I am who I am – and in that smile I know that I am of infinite value, as are all those others around me.

The Christ Child smiled that Christmas Eve one hundred years ago this month and the soldiers looked across the trenches at each other and no longer saw what the enemy were, but who they were – people just like themselves – and they went out to greet each other as friends. That is did not last long, does not matter. What is important is that it did happen – and the smiles of Christmas tell us that it will happen again, until one day there will be no more men of vested interest to demand that we start killing each other again.

“Glory to God in the Highest and peace to people of good will”

Diary

The College is quiet! The peace of Christmas hangs over all, for the students have gone home and soon, tomorrow morning, I shall be going to Bali for a week. I was ticking off last night the work I needed to take with me – but, in the middle of my evening shower, I thought, “No! I am going on holiday! The work can wait till I come back!” And so it shall.

I have just been visited by some friends from the days when I was a young priest in Mukah. One of them was a dental nurse and her presence today brought to mind the time when we had a small group of Catholic nurses who used to meet together. One of them “took a shine to me” as the saying goes, and kept turning up at the Fathers’ House, when I was there by myself, with a chicken tied to her handlebars – insisting that she wanted to cook it for me so that we could eat it together. I ran! Fortunately, a week later, she was transferred – but that was not my doing. As we chatted, I recalled that story and the friends said that I should record all those stories in a book. Maybe!

Having got eight young men, who have expressed a wish to become Mill Hill Missionaries, I now have to find a way to train them. Amazingly, the smile of the Christ Child happened and people began to ask if they could help contribute towards their studies, so I am starting up a “Mill Hill Family” group to help join us in our missionary work.

Some years ago, I read a story in which the mother of a large family of ten or twelve children met the Pope. They talked for a while about her family and then he asked her, “Which of your children do you love the most?” and she answered, “The one who is in trouble!” That answer has remained with me and has come to symbolise the heart of true ‘mother-love’ - for true mother-love is always life-giving, always reaching out to the one most in need of new life. I also remember feeling something similar, when reading once about the mother of a hardened criminal, who had just been sentenced to life imprisonment. She was asked what she felt about her son after the sentence had been passed and she answered, “But he’s a good boy really.” Our first reaction would probably be to dismiss such a remark, thinking she is blinding herself to reality. But – is she? Or, are mother’s able to see something about those they love that the rest of us find very difficult, if not impossible, to see?

When we look at a person with a critical, condemning eye, we see only who they are and what they have done and in so doing, we reduce that person to “a thing”, an object that has a past but no future. This is what the French philosopher Jean Paul Sartre called “the hateful stare” – something that destroys a person’s humanity and all hope of redemption or salvation. However, when someone, such as a mother, looks at one she loves, she knows who they are and what they have done – but she also sees what that person can become. She knows that the one she loves is not only someone with a history, but also a person with a future – but it takes the eyes of love to see that. This is why we say that only God can truly forgive, for only God can truly look at us with eyes of love.

This Season of Advent, that we have just entered, is very much the season of “Mother-Love”, as epitomized by Our Lady. The writings of the ancient prophets, that we read during this season, recognise that the People of Israel have become a selfish and greedy people – but they are also readings of hope for they see what the People can become by God’s grace – and, as such, they proclaim God’s ‘Mother-Love’ for his People. This is an aspect of God that we often overlook, for we conceive of God in terms of our own image and likeness and thus see him as a condemning God – a stern father-figure. The presence of Our Lady, however, at Christmas, balances that picture, for, at this time, she is not only a model of faith for us, but, in giving us her Son, she is also an “Icon” of God, who “gave his Son for the life of the world” (John 3:16) and so reveals that God is both Father and Mother.

This motherly aspect of God is also seen through the Gospels. They are full of examples of how Christ does not condemn sinners, but looks on them with love and by so doing gives them life. The story of Zaccheus (Lk 19:11-27) and the woman taken in adultery, (John 8: 1–11), are but two wonderful examples of this. Christ does not imply that what they have done is unimportant, on the contrary, but he looks at those two, and others, as they are – persons capable of becoming so much more than what they have done – and his loving regard sets them free from the chains of their accusers and opens the doorway to new life. These stories not only show the character of God’s love for us, but also present us with a challenge in our relations with others, for the Lord calls us to become one with him in bringing this life-giving “mother-love” to those among whom we live – however, it is so easy to let this commandment of the Lord slip by us unheeded.

When we examine our way of life, we tend to concentrate on whether we have been faithful to our religious duties – our prayers and attendance at Mass etc. – but we pass over “gossiping”, for instance, very lightly – giving only little weight to its importance. And yet, it is precisely here, in our relations with others, that we affirm or deny our discipleship of the Lord, for “to gossip” about someone is to use “the hateful stare”, to identify them with what they have done – and refuse to look on them with the eyes of God’s mother-love. Christ calls us to be, with him, life-givers in this our world, but when we gossip we become not life-givers, but life-takers – we kill those he commanded us to love!

Diary

We are coming to the end of the term and the academic year. Lectures are over and the students are coming and booking time-slots for their oral exams. I finished marking all the essays, during I the retreat I gave in Mukah last week – so there is a little lull before the storm of oral exams – when the students answer questions rather than sit a written exam (This doesn’t mean that I have become a dentist! – “Oral”!)

(I have become very wary of telling British-style jokes, based on word-play, for sometimes people just stare at me uncomprehendingly and then I have to explain what I think is funny about what I have just said!!)

I shall be going to Bali on 18th Dec and stay there until 26th Dec, when I shall return here to Kuching. I am looking forward to it, although it is usually wet, humid and crowded in Bali at this time of the year – but the opportunity to meet old friends again will be a great Christmas present.

When I get back, we shall have a reunion/recollection day, on 27th Dec., for those who went on the Chiang Mai Retreat last May.

In 1984, my Malaysian visa expired and I had to leave the country. On top of this, but unknown to me at the time, I had been developing liver trouble and this eventually turned into hepatitis. The result was that, shortly after arriving back in England, I found myself in hospital for a month. During that stay in hospital, I discovered how important the liver is, for not only is it the medicine box of the body, it also greatly influences our moods – and my mood was black! I knew that my time in Malaysia was over, but I did not know where I would be going or what I would be doing; all I could do was look to the past and mourn for what I had lost. I was poison to myself and to all those around me and the one who bore the brunt of all this was my Mum. She had to put up with my bad temper, sharp tongue and the silent periods I would sink into – but put up with it she did and it was greatly due to her long-suffering patience and love that I eventually began to emerge from the black hole where I had lost myself.

I was in hospital for 28 days and in a single room so did not have much company, but my Mum would come to visit me almost every day, in the afternoon. I used to look forward to her visits, but at the same time would often be sullen and surly towards her, when she arrived – but still she came, day after day, and she would sit there with me for about an hour or so before it was time to leave. She had a very distinctive step and I would hear her walking down the corridor towards my room, but, I remember also, that as she neared the door to my room, her steps would slow a little, as though she were trying to pluck up the courage to come in and face her sullen, ungrateful son. However, she never lost courage and turned back – not that I would have blamed her had she done so – and this love of hers slowly won through and bit by bit I was brought into healing. Now, as I remember that time, I am reminded of the Song of the Suffering Servant Is: 53:5: “he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.” This passage refers to Christ, but my Mum enabled Christ to be present with me as together they carried the pain and difficulty of being with me that brought me into healing. This vicarious suffering is what we call “Penance”!

For most Catholics, “penance” refers to the prayers we are given to say after confession, which somehow “make-up” for the sins we have committed. However, the meaning of “penance” is far deeper than that and is something that Christ calls us all to share in whether we were the ones, who committed the sins, or not. “Penance” points to the work and effort required to heal the brokenness of the world and its people brought about by sin – be that personal sin or the brokenness of the world pointed to by the teaching of “original sin”. My rough treatment of my Mum and others, when I was sick, could have resulted in splitting my family and myself in two, for that is the type of thing that sin does – it destroys, damages, disfigures – and only the love of someone, who is willing to “carry” that damage, can do the “penance” required to put the world back together again and so bring it into peace and friendship again. That is what my Mum was doing when she came each day without complaining – enduring my surliness and sinful behaviour – she was doing penance so that I and might be healed by God’s grace.

My old professor in Rome used to say that we can have a “sinful idea of sin”. By this he meant that “sin” is sin because it damages, because it destroys, because it disfigures. It damages people, communities and the world – we only have to look around us to see that. A “sinful idea of sin” leads us, when thinking of sin, to concentrate on ourselves and our self-perfection and by so doing blinds to the very real damage that true sin does to all around us. We live in a “sinful world”, we live in a world where people live blighted, broken lives because of greed and selfishness. “Sin” is that which causes people not to have the means to care for their families, “sin” is that which leads communities to face each other in hatred and enmity, “sin” is that which mars and destroys the beauty of the lands in which we dwell. This and much more are the effects of sin, which Christ came carry and so to “forgive” and to this end he calls us to share with him in this – to take up the painful task of carrying that brokenness of the world, so that, through the Holy Spirit, he can heal our world and the people who live herein.

This is the meaning of his words: “take up your cross day by day and follow me” - to help him carry that pain, that destruction that must be carried if we and our world are to be healed and unified. Christ is the one “who takes away the sins of the world”, but sometimes miss that the words are the present tense – indicating that his task is not yet completed. It was this thought that led Pope Paul VI, in the document “Paenitemini”, to call Christ “The Penitent One”, because he is still carrying the sins of the world and calling us to share in this task no matter how painful. My Mum heard that call and answered it each day she walked down the hospital corridor towards my room, not knowing what she might find.

Diary

Having been forbidden to cut grass for three weeks, I have been looking for other ways to exercise. Usually I walk round our College cloisters for 30 – 40 minutes, but I find it very boring, evening though I listen to BBC radio programmes on my iPod. I think I might try taking up swimming again, but I don’t like swimming with crowds of noisy, splashing people…. Fussy heh?

I go to what was my first mission, Mukah, at the end of next week, to give a retreat to a group of sisters. It has greatly changed over the last 40 or so years, but it still carries some very nice memories for me – even though I now know far more people in the cemetery than I do in the town.

One evening last week, I was taken out for a burger by a young man, who attends the parish church where I say Mass on Sundays. The burger stall is new and is run by two young chefs, who are trying to launch out on their own and after giving our order we sat down in a nearby café to have a drink, while we waited for the burgers to be cooked. When they arrived, the chef, who brought them, looked at me, and said, “I seem to recognise you; are you one of the Fathers?” I answered that I was and he then said that he used to go to Mass at St Joseph’s Cathedral, but added, “but I don’t go any more; there are too many hypocrites!” He seemed interested in chatting a little, so I replied to his remark by telling him about Evelyn Waugh, a British writer of the last century. Waugh was a convert to Catholicism and attended Mass regularly, but, at the same time, by all accounts, he was a most unpleasant man. One day, in the course of being rude, someone said to him, “How can a man like you go to Mass every Sunday? Aren’t you being a hypocrite?” He answered, “No, because you should see what I would be like if I did not go to Mass!” The young chef thought about that for a moment and then said, “That’s an interesting way of looking at it, thank you!” and then left to tend his stall.

Evelyn Waugh saw something about the Faith that we often overlook – at this present time, we do not have full freedom with regard to our behaviour, we are chained by the type of person we are – in other words: we are sinful people and so we act sinfully. However, he also saw that we are on a journey of growth and that gives us hope, for although we have not yet arrived at our final destination, we are on the way. We are being moulded by the Holy Spirit, day by day, into the likeness of Christ and if we cooperate with the Spirit, then, one day, we will be fully and completely like Christ. As St Paul says, “So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord – who is the Spirit – makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.” This is why St Paul can and does call us all “saints”, because although we are still sinful in many ways, we are in “process” – we are being led by the Spirit and, one day, we will be completely transformed into the likeness of Christ.

Does that mean we can just sit back and let things be? No, because the power of the Spirit is not magic; it rises up within us through our choices for goodness that we make in the depths of our heart – this is how we cooperate with the Spirit. Thus, whenever we look at our sinful ways and ask for forgiveness, we are not just asking to be absolved from those acts, but through them we are looking at ourselves and making a choice – “No! That is not the person I want to be! I want to be like you, Lord; I want to become like you; I want, one day, to be with you!” and in that heartfelt choice, I give leave to the Spirit to continue the journey we are on and mould me, make me, love me into the image of Christ.

One of the reasons that we overlook this aspect of our Faith is that we Catholics are trained to look at the things we do wrong, but not so often to see the things we do right. We start each Mass with an injunction from the priest “to acknowledge our sins”, but, as Cardinal Martini used to say, now and then, we should also call to mind the good things that we can now do – but could not have done ten or twenty years ago. This is the “process”, but how does it work?

St Paul says that “the love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit” This love is not so much God’s love for me, but God inviting me to love others with him. When I find myself in a situation where I see some good that I can do – a helping hand, a friendly word, a kindness – this is the Holy Spirit bringing it to my attention and also giving me the love to choose to do so. My part is to choose for that love. If I choose not to, then that love disappears, because it was not really mine in the first place, but if I choose to follow that inspiration and reach out in compassion to that person, then that love becomes my love – and thus I grow.

Our baptism is a “one-off” act, whereby God takes us to himself in an act of re-creation, but that act is also a process and goes far beyond the pouring of water and the saying of the words of the sacrament. It is an act that has tremendous consequences, for, as St Paul says, “The whole of creation waits with eager longing for the sons of God to be revealed.” (Rom.8:19) When that day comes, then there will be no more wars, enmity or hatred, but until then we have to learn to bear with one another’s failings, take time to help each other understand that we are on a journey and that can take place anywhere– even at an outdoor burger stall in Kuching.

Diary

For some months now, I have had pains in my right shoulder. I thought it was tendonitis, due to using a computer mouse too much, so I changed hands when using the mouse – which was interesting. It was rather like trying to do up a button when looking in a mirror! However, the pain persisted and then a memory came back to me of when I lived in USA and fell down some steps, resulting in a pinched nerve in my shoulder. At the time, I had an old friend – a nun and old-time nurse, who knew old-time remedies – and she advised me to take aspirin every six hours and it worked. However, I could not remember how long I was supposed to take it for and when I stopped, the pain returned. So, I went to an osteopath here in Kuching – a chirpy young woman – and she confirmed that it was a pinched nerve, together with a strained muscle. She began manipulation and I already feel a benefit from it – but I have to leave off grass-cutting for three weeks!

We celebrated the “Friends of St Peter’s College” day last Monday and about 500 – 600 people came for the Mass and the meal and entertainment afterwards. I met two elderly ladies whom I have known for the last forty years. They were among the many people who supported the College in the beginning when we had almost no money, and they faithfully sent us small donations over and over again and so we survived grew. The sheer devotion and love of such people overwhelms me and when I look into their smiling faces, I see the face of God.

I will be spending Christmas in Bali this year – as I am not really needed here in Kuching. I will go a week before Christmas and return the day after Christmas. That will give me time to visit my friends both in the prison and outside it.

Some twenty odd years ago, I became sick. I felt tired all the time, I could not do my work properly and found it very difficult getting up in the morning. Into this mess stepped a young man, who was training as a student of Mill Hill. He would come in the mornings to help get me up, he would make sure that I had whatever medicines and other things I needed and would often come and sit for a while in the evenings to keep me company – he even read up about my condition to see how he might help me further. At that time, I felt so ashamed of my weakness and prayed desperately for the Lord to take it away – and while I was grateful for the help of that young man, I so wished it was all different! Now, some twenty five years later, my opinion about that time has changed. That young man, who was such a help to me, has now left Mill Hill and followed a different path in life, but the friendship that began during the time of my weakness, is still there and has deepened and matured over the years. I went to see him recently, while I was home on leave, and although I only meet him about once a year, it struck me that our friendship is as though we saw each other every day. So, when I look back at that time of my sickness, I no longer reject the feelings of weakness and helplessness that were mine, but, instead, I remember the deep and abiding friendship that grew out of that time, a friendship that could only have come about because I was weak – and I give thanks for the weakness that was mine. Weakness is something we look down upon and despise in our world and often this works its way into our attitude as Christians – we are frightened of weakness , both physical and spiritual, and reject it, even though we proclaim that the prayers of the sick and weak are powerful in the sight of God. More and more I realise how we need to re-evaluate the place of weakness in our lives, because were there no weakness in our world, no brokenness or damage in our lives, then neither would there be compassion, mercy, or even faith, for we can only find our Saviour in our weakness and failure – not in our strength and success. This does not mean that God sends us pain and sickness, as some seem to think, he does not. Our world and the people in it are more than capable of doing that, but God does reach out to us in our weakness and takes up that pain, brokenness and weakness and brings out of them such miracles of love and care that we can only stand in awe and wonder. On Good Fridays, as celebrant at the ceremonies, I am able to watch those coming up to venerate the cross and I see the love and devotion in their faces as they kiss the cross and hold up their small children to touch the figure of the one who died for us. It shows how God can take the cruelty and hatred of the world and make it the very place where love, compassion – and friendship – are born. There is a time of our lives for us to be strong, to do, to create, but our lives begin in weakness, and in that weakness we begin to know love – first through our parents and others who hold us and care for us in our weakness as babies. The same is also true, for most of us, at the end of our lives – we come to know weakness once more as our strength drains away due to age and sickness and we become reliant on others. A point to ponder is that whereas the things we are most proud of are those we accomplish in the times of our strength and ability, but the things of beauty and gentle joy that will abide forever, are born not in the times of our strength, but in the times of our weakness. Both strength and weakness have a place in our lives, but the part we do not particularly like, our weakness, is usually the more fruitful part – and this is true of both our friendship with God as well of our friendships with those around us. Cardinal Hume said of friendship: “Love between two persons, whether of the same sex or of a different sex, is to be treasured and respected… When two persons love, they experience in a limited manner in this world what will be their unending delight when one with God in the next… To love another is to have entered the area of the richest human experience…” True friendship is born and grows when we are there for the other in their weakness and need and they, in turn, for us. It is being true to someone, when the world sees only failure, and so giving them the courage to stand up and walk again. The deepest part of the friendship I have with my Saviour was born in the times of my weakness, as was my friendship with that now “not so young” man, who came to me in my weakness so many years ago. Diary Some of you have written to ask if things are ok with me, because there has been no blog for some time. That is very kind of you and I thank you for your concern. I am well, but have been on leave and been doing other things too, but I must also admit to hitting a certain “dry period” with my blog. My leave in UK was for just under three weeks and there were many friends and other to see – and I did not get round to them all – and so there was not a lot of time to write. Then, when I came back, I went to West Malaysia to give a week’s retreat for diocesan priests there – and those talks also had to be prepared. However, now I am back and have time to reflect on some of the things that happened during my holidays and persons I met – and as you see from above – the inspiration seems to be beginning to flow again. On the evening of All Souls, I usually walk through the cemetery at St Joseph’s Cathedral to visit the graves of old friends. I usually take some candles with me, so I can light a candle for them and also put a lighted candle on the untended tombs, which I do for them and in memory of my own loved ones whose graves lie far away. Two years ago, I noticed another grave, among the graves of the Religious Sisters, but the nameplate was in such a bad condition that I had great difficulty in reading the names, of which there were several. They had been painted on a piece of tin, but the harsh Sarawak weather had nearly obliterated the names, but I did notice that they were the names of Religious Sisters – sixteen in all – and so, I set myself to discover who they were and after two years, and much letter writing, I have managed. They are the remains of sixteen Religious Sisters interred in that grave; eight of them were the “White Sisters”, the first nuns here in Sarawak, together with one of the first of our local Sisters. The rest are the remains of seven elderly Dutch Sisters, who were transported here from Indonesia, by the Japanese, during the Second World War, and died in the internment camp at Batu Lintang. When I found discovered who they were, I decided to erect a better monument to them. However, on either side of this grave, were two graves belonging to two of the first White Sisters, who came to Sarawak and their tombs were also in a bad condition, so I decided to refurbish all three. I have finally managed it and the new gravestones should be ready by All Souls Day. The cost of it all was RM12.000, (Just over £2,000, for those of you outside Sarawak) and I had just RM750, kindly given by people, when I first thought of the idea. The Cathedral Cemetery Committee added RM5.000, but I was still left with over RM6000 to find, so I borrowed it from the Mill Hill accounts and then mentioned at Mass last Sunday that I was hoping something would happen before I had to hand in my Mill Hill accounts at the end of the year. I am happy to tell you that within days the money came – and my reputation as an accountant (if I ever had one!) has been saved.

When I was a boy of about eleven years old, I got a part-time job delivering newspapers. There were seven or eight lads, like myself, and we were employed by a local newsagent shop, which also sold sweets and cigarettes etc. We boys would hang around the shop and chat while we waited for the paper-rounds to be assembled and marked by the manager. One day, I saw one of the boys quietly slip a packet of cigarettes into his pocket, while the manager was busy marking the papers and then I saw some of the others also take things and the thought came to me to also take something, so I took a packet of cigarettes and no one saw me. However, some days later, when I tried it again, I was seen by the area manager, who happened to be in the shop on that day. He said nothing about it, but the next day he said he wanted to talk to me and took me into his office. To my surprise, he did not scold or threaten to call the police, but he gently told me that he knew some of the other boys stole things and that he had seen me take the cigarettes and then he asked me, “Is that what you want to become?” I do not remember what I said in reply, but that was one of the turning points of my life and that question has remained with me ever since – along with a great gratitude to that man for his kindness and wisdom.

What he was pointing out – and what I am still learning – is that in our every moral action there are, in fact, two choices – or maybe it would be better to say: two consequences of the one choice. The first is the choice to do something either good or bad – or not to do it. But, at a much deeper level, this is also a choice about the type of person I choose to become. Usually, when making the first choice, I am not consciously aware of the deeper effects of that choice, but nevertheless they are there and through my moral choices, I am “moulded” by God into the type of person I want to be.

In our religious instruction, we are taught to examine our conscience, especially when preparing for confession, but sadly, the way we are taught to do this concentrates on our actions – on the things we have done or not done – and, because of this, we often miss out on the opportunity to ask ourselves: “What type of person do I want to be?” This question is a vital part of the spiritual life for our relationship with the Lord is not only about what we do or don’t do, but more importantly it is about the direction of our life – where we are headed!

People often tell me that they wonder what the point of going to confession is, “Because”, they say, “I always confess the same sins”. Because we are taught to concentrate only on our actions, we often do not see that even though we confess the same things over and over again, nevertheless when we say “sorry!”, we are also saying to the Lord – “Even though I have done these things, Lord, and cannot find the strength not to do them, nevertheless it is you whom I chooseand you whom I want to be with.” And that is not just an empty wish, for each time I do so, my friendship with the Lord goes down to a deeper and deeper level – and down there wonderful things are happening by the power of the Spirit, things, which at present, I cannot see.

Fundamentally, the Christian life is not about doing good actions or avoiding bad ones – but about choice! As one of the earliest Christian catechetical teachings, the Didache, says: “There are two ways – a way of life and a way of death – and you must choose which way to go!” We may not have the power to do all the things we would like to do, but we do have the power to choose, which way we want to go and when we do that, we open ourselves up to the power of God to mould us into his likeness.

Viktor Frankl was an Austrian psychotherapist, who was sent to a concentration camp by the Nazis, because he was Jewish. He survived three and a half years in the terrible conditions of the camp and when he was released he asked himself why he had survived when so many others did not. The answer he came to was that he did not give up because he knew that his wife would need him, when he got out – for she also had been sent to a camp – and it was his love for her that gave him the courage to face and overcome all the difficulties of his life there. When he was released, he discovered that his wife had not survived, but nevertheless, it was his love for her that has enabled him to live.

He went on further and asked himself, why had not become brutalised in the camp, as many others had done in order to survive. His answer to this question was that this was due to his wife’s love for him. He wanted to be the type of person his wife would be proud of, and because of this he resisted all temptations to survive “at all costs”. Despite the horrific conditions, he chose to become the person his wife would be proud of. Such is the power of love!

Likewise with us! In our life we are faced with the difficult conditions of the world and also with weaknesses and failings in ourselves, but despite them all we can choose, choose who we want to be. It is love that enables us to make that choice – the love we find through our prayer and through all those around us. It is our love for God that makes us go on trying, even though we fail again and again. It is God’s love for us that inspires to want to be someone he would be proud of. Frankl said, “Love undergirds the whole world”. We profess this in our Faith and experience it in our lives.

“Who do you want to become?” – the manager, who asked me that question, did not only know how to sell newspapers, but also knew about the deepest question of the spiritual life!

Diary

Last Saturday, I went to give a day of recollection to the Sisters in the local convent here. When Mass began I stood at the altar for the opening prayers and then, when the readings began, I went to sit down in the armed seat provided – but as I did so I felt the wicker seat under me slowly begin to give way. I knew that if I said anything I would disrupt the Mass, so I held myself up with my elbows to prevent my weight resting fully on the wicker seat, which was quite a feat!

I waited till the end of Mass before I said anything, and when they thanked me for the things I do for them – then I asked them to do something for me: “Next time, please give me a chair that will not collapse under me”. They all started to giggle and it took a long, long time, well into lunch before they got over it. So I was right not to say anything, when the chair first began to give way,

I have to go travelling for five days – to Bintulu and to Kota Kinabalu – and then I return to the seminary for a week to give examinations. After that I go to England on leave for three weeks to see my family and friends there. I am looking forward to it. I cannot afford to be there longer than three weeks, because of the College timetable, but I will enjoy the time I have.